


The pain of watching (and wanting) you

by Mylesime



Series: The Undeserving [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ben is in love with the wrong person, Ben's POV, Drug Addiction, Ghost Ben, M/M, Oblivious Klaus, Sad Ben, Unrequited Love, implied prostitution, pining ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:42:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mylesime/pseuds/Mylesime
Summary: "It wasn’t just the disgust, when he saw Klaus with somebody else. It was the jealousy. The searing jealousy of knowing that he would never be anything else than a shadow stuck in the corner. The annoying, pestering dead brother Klaus couldn’t seem to get rid of."





	The pain of watching (and wanting) you

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, I've succumbed to a new ship. Ben and Klaus forever. They are perfect together.

When he realized he was dead, he didn't feel much other than a strange feeling of emptiness. He was dead. It was over. He vaguely remembered dying, vaguely remembered the pain and the blood, the screaming and the tears. It already seemed so far, barely real.

He didn't really have a proper burial, Reginald being in more of a hurry to get rid of the inconvenience than paying sincere respect.

Ben didn’t care.

The only thing that mattered was Klaus and how his other siblings literally had to drag him away from the tombstone. But Klaus refused to leave. It reached Ben deep, made him sad and alive again, if only for a moment.

He and Klaus had been so close, sharing a bedroom all their life. Ben was the only one who could calm Klaus’ nocturnal nightmares and Klaus kept Ben grounded through the pain of having a monster living under his skin.

They completed each other.

They were brothers.

Except, not really. Not to Ben anyway.

Klaus had always been so much more. And when Klaus crawled into his bed at night, seeking comfort in the ring of his arms because he was scared of the dead, Ben always tried to ignore the pang of longing, the small tug of happiness and warmth, snuggling Klaus closer to him, his cheek against his temple to keep him safe.

Even now, years later, Klaus was still his only world. His anchor. His only place to stay. And he was grateful for Klaus’ power really, even if Klaus hated it. He had been allowed to stay. Unreachable and intangible. But here.

He could still see Klaus everyday, talk to him, look at him. Bask in his erratic presence.

It was a gift and it was a curse. A cruel purgatory from which there was no escape. Staying. Powerless and useless. Not dead enough to stop caring. Watching the one person he loved most destroy himself, out of his reach forever.

Unable to touch. Unable to feel. Unable to truly love.

At first, Ben thought the pills were the worst. The effects were pathetic and scary, the withdrawals awful. Three times out of four, Klaus completely lost his shit, turning into a sweaty and incoherent mess that ended up vomiting on himself and choking.

A true sight, really.

A show that Ben never missed, no matter the times he wished he had. He was stuck in that room with him, sometimes silently crying, sometimes begging, sometimes yelling. Sometimes too hurt to find words or sounds, watching Klaus helplessly tremble on the cold bathroom floor of a cheap motel. A naked, pathetic shell of a broken boy.

He didn’t understand. He was a ghost. He was dead. So why did he feel so much?

Over the years, he had seen Klaus thrive on the pathos to the point of making it an art form. He had seen him drunk, high, sick, throwing up and shitting himself. He had seen his ass and his cock. Flaccid. Hard. Jerking off in the middle of the room. Getting fucked in plain view. He had seen him clothed in a bathtub, overdosing on meth and acid. He had seen him naked, bad tripping on the carpet, slicing his wrist open, knocking his head against the wall, laughing and crying at the same time.

Yes, Ben had seen it all. Helpless. Powerless. Like a shadow forgotten in the corner.

He had followed Klaus down the streets, watching him trade parts of himself in exchange for a few magical pills and a shelter for the night. Sinking to the lowest of the lowest. Day after day, night after night. Letting strangers use him and discard him, hurt him and abuse him while Klaus cried and bled and screamed for more in front of Ben’s disgusted eyes. Even when he closed them, he could still hear the sounds. The filthy moans and body reactions.

And _that_ was the worst.

Seeing what he could never have. Watching those assholes damage what he would have loved and cherished. With all the little of his experience.

Klaus often made inappropriate jokes about Ben's late physical particularities.

“You must have had so much fun with your little buddies,” Klaus said, “ _Bentacles_.”

Ben huffed. He hated it. It was bad enough he had to be the Asian guy with the growing tentacles for Klaus to add salt to the injury, even if he was dead.

“Stop it. It's gross.”

And it truly was.

“Mmmh… _Bentacles_ …” Klaus purred, licking his lips like a cat, sending waves of embarrassment down Ben’s ghost spine.

“I said stop it. It's disgusting.”

Nothing was hot about ripping someone to shreds. No matter Klaus’ jokes. It was just Klaus being Klaus. And no, Ben had never had _fun_ with his little buddies. Or with himself for that matter.

He had died untouched. The monsters swarming in the pit of his stomach rendering physical intimacy a terrifying thought. Furthermore, who would have been insane enough to want intimacy with the Horror? Klaus was a kinky fucker but he wasn’t _that_ kinky. Especially not at the time when Ben was still alive. Klaus still held some innocence that Ben would have tainted, even unwillingly.

It didn’t stop the dreams though, nor the thoughts and the agonizing want. It didn’t stop the ache to touch and reach and feel. The constant longing.

Klaus was pathetic and he was beautiful. So very beautiful. Sensual and sinful, making Ben tremble with a need that would never satisfy.

It wasn’t just the disgust, when he saw Klaus with somebody else. It was the jealousy. The searing jealousy of knowing that he would never be anything else than a shadow stuck in the corner. The annoying, pestering dead brother Klaus couldn’t seem to get rid of.

Sometimes, Klaus caught his gaze while in the middle of it and Ben looked away, blushing and ashamed, the vision of Klaus' sex face still haunting him.

There were moments, when Klaus was high and careless, he played games with Ben. Teased him. To provoke him maybe, unaware of the real effect of his smiles and winks.

“You think I’m pretty, Benny?” Klaus said, breathing a round of smoke into Ben’s face.

Ben huffed, dismissing Klaus with his usual fake disinterest.

“You’re drunk Klaus.”

“And you’re cute, Benny,” Klaus purred and Ben swallowed, “My cute, cute, cute _Bentacles_.”

“Stop it with that nickname! I’m not playing your stupid games!” he snapped, ignoring the sudden heat on his cheeks.

There was no heat, he knew that. He wasn't even corporeal. It was all in his head.

Klaus pulled a face, half mocking, half indulging and turned his attention back on his glass. He looked so detached, so eerie, in his leather pants and black top, using the counter of the club like a wall of display.

Ben was about to speak again when a man approached, catching Klaus’ attention and Ben sighed in defeat. As expected, the two men began to flirt, Klaus ignoring Ben’s presence again. They kissed and Ben watched, the familiar lump of longing forming in his throat. He had never kissed anyone before dying and could only imagine what it felt like. Klaus looked to be an amazing kisser. Not than Ben would ever know.

The kiss turned into a cheap motel session of moans and mattress cracking and Ben stayed in the bathroom the whole time, not in the mood to have his dead heart broken again.

“What do you want to do today?” Klaus asked the morning after, still high on whatever he had taken the night prior.

The guy was still sleeping.

“What about him?” Ben said.

Klaus shrugged, slipping into his pants.

“Who cares?”

And that was the problem. Klaus didn't care. He didn't care about anyone or anything. Only his precious little pills mattered. Getting high. Getting drunk. Forgetting. Nothing else was worth of interest for Klaus. Not even Ben. And that stung real bad. Ben had always stayed at Klaus’ side. Never leaving him. Always encouraging him, keeping him close and somehow safe. He had tried. In life. In death.

But Klaus had never cared.

“No one is asking you to stay!” he said once, in the middle of yet another argument about his poor life choices.

And Ben, stayed there, mouth agape in shock. He was just too hurt, too uncovered. Klaus was right. No one was asking him to stay. Certainly not Klaus. Never Klaus. Klaus ignored him most of the time, or sent him packing when he ventured forth with a suggestion that didn’t involve drugs or tequila.

“You're right,” he said eventually, his voice barely audible.

Why did he stay, really? Why couldn't he go? Klaus didn't need him. No one did. His lingering presence clearly wasn't required.

Who was he fooling? Klaus maybe. But certainly not himself.

He knew why he stayed. Of course. Why he had bothered through all of Klaus’ antics. He simply couldn't go. The thought of leaving Klaus and never see him again hurt him more than the pain of his indifference. At least, he could still see him everyday, watch him. Pretend. It was selfish really. A bit masochistic too. But what could he say for his defense? He was an idiot. An idiot in love with the wrong person.

And Klaus still didn't care.

_Until Dave._

Klaus had cared for Dave. Cared enough to think about staying and abandoning everything for that guy. Abandoning Ben.

“If Dave hadn't died, I would have stayed with him,” Klaus whined in his bathtub, “We would have taken a nice little cottage with puppies and flowers. It would have been nice.”

He wasn't looking at Ben sitting just beside him. He wasn't even talking to him. Not really. He was talking to the joint in his hand, to his own memory.

Now, there were many things Ben had learned to ignore or or at least get by with time. Watching Klaus destroy himself, watching him suck a guy for a bottle of vodka or getting tied up and gagged by a maniac. Ben hated all of it, really did, but those were things he was used to seeing and that he could _tolerate_ (for lack of a better word).

But Klaus being _in love_ with someone? Sincerely caring for someone? A guy that Ben had never seen but who was special enough to get from Klaus the one thing nobody never got? (Ben a little, for some time. Mild caresses on the forehead, chaste kisses here and there).

Klaus in love.

 _This_ , Ben couldn't do.

He imagined them kissing and fucking gently, sweetly, and it made him want to die a second time. He wanted him so much, it felt like he had a body only made of longing and of pain.

“What are you moping about again?” Klaus slurred.

Ben shook his head, dejected. There was no point arguing.

Klaus didn't understand.

He never had.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it. I plan on writing two other stories. Next one with Klaus' POV and the third one going E.
> 
> Stay tuned!


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